The night was quiet, save for the soft clinking of bottles and the murmur of voices in the saloon. You and John sat together, your laughter filling the space between sips of whiskey. The warmth of the drink and the comfortable silence made it easy to forget the world outside.

At some point, the alcohol took its toll, and your head found its way to John's lap. You could feel his hand resting on your hair as you drifted into a deep, peaceful sleep, the noise of the bar fading into the background.

As you slept, John’s gaze wandered, a flicker of movement on the wall catching his attention. It was a wanted poster, hanging carelessly next to the door. He barely gave it a second thought until his eyes landed on it, his heart skipping a beat.

The poster was poorly lit, but there was something familiar about it. The image of the person on the poster had their face obscured, but their eyes—those eyes—were unmistakable. It was you.

His breath caught in his throat as he looked closer. The description didn’t match who he thought you were. It spoke of a criminal—a thief who stole from the rich to give to the poor. Someone who had evaded capture for years, a shadow that lived outside the law.

He looked down at you, still asleep, unaware that everything was about to change.

John's fingers brushed gently through your hair, his thoughts racing. He'd never known you as the person on that poster. To him, you were the one who offered him comfort, the one who made him laugh, the one who made him forget about the world’s harshness.

But now, it seemed the world had a different view of you.

His voice was low, almost a whisper, as he muttered to himself, "I thought you were something different. You’re not who they said you were, are you?"

He let out a sigh, leaning back in the chair, watching over you with new understanding. You had your reasons, and though it shocked him, he couldn’t help but feel a strange admiration for the person you were—living on your own terms, even if it meant breaking every rule.